Hearts in Stars Hollow
by Kristi
Summary: L,L,R, some L/L. Lorelai arrives; someone dies; and we see it all through their own eyes.
1. Prelude

"Hearts in Stars Hollow"

**Prelude: Luke**   
Stars Hollow, 1984 

As I approached the little house, hefting the weight of my dad's toolbox, an unmistakable noise assaulted my ears. My dread for this job grew to actual fear. I could tolerate anything but a screaming baby. 

I rapped on the door. Seconds ticked by. I contemplated escape. 

The door flew open and a skinny girl snapped, "_What?_" 

"Uh. Hi --" 

"Do you know anything about babies?" 

"Um--" 

"Like why they scream for three hours straight? Is that normal? The book says it's normal but she won't stop! _Three hours_. I don't know what I'm supposed to do. For the love of God, tell me you know something about babies!" 

"I -- I know about plumbing." 

"Huh?" 

"I'm Luke Danes. My dad said you need your sink fixed?" 

"Your dad?" She looked me up and down and seemed to disapprove. 

"Yeah. William Danes. Owns the hardware store?" I showed her the sales slip. "You bought some pipes yesterday and said you didn't know how to install them." 

"So you're here to fix my sink? Just like that? You're, what, the sink elf?" 

"I'm someone who's trying to fix your sink," I said, ignoring her tone. 

"Well, Luke, that's nice but I can't afford to hire a plumber --" 

"No, you don't have to pay. It's just a quick job," I said, embarrassed. 

"Oh. Well. Thanks." She stood there, looking conflicted. 

"I can't reach the sink from here." 

"Oh! Right. Come in." 

As I crossed the hardwood floor, she followed me, chattering. "I mean, really, I really appreciate this. I've been hauling water from the inn like Laura Ingalls Wilder." 

I glanced at the source of the noise: a baby sitting fitfully in a crib that had "Heather" stenciled across the top. "'Heather'? Is she yours?" 

"Hm? Oh, she's Rory. Someone leant me the crib. Yeah, she's mine." 

I watched the girl pick the howling baby up and rock it on her hip. The girl couldn't be even as old as me. 

I indicated the sink. "What's the problem?" 

"Water's funny colors. It's really gross. I--" Just then, the baby's screaming reached a new degree of noise pollution. 

"I can figure it out," I told her. But I continued to watch her. She looked exhausted. I glanced at the sales slip again: 'Lorelai Gilmore.' "Has she really been doing that for four hours?" 

"Nonstop with changes in tune and melody. It's like my own private Cindi Lauper concert." 

"Heavy. You have a phone?" 

She pointed. I mentally reviewed the town's moms and made a selection based on availability if not temperament. Star Hollow's phone numbers are based on street and house number, so I dialed without looking the number up. 

"Mrs. Kim? Hi, this is Luke Danes. . . . Yeah, William Danes. I'm at – I haven't done anything to it. It's Lorelai Gilmore's . . . right, the new girl. . . ." I hoped the words 'unwed teenage mother' didn't carry. "We're not sure if it's sick. . . . Yeah, here she is." I handed the phone to Lorelai. She stared at me a second before taking it. 

"Hello?" she asked nervously. "Lorelai Gilmore. . . . I don't see how my age. . . . Sixteen. . . . Hartford. . . . Ten weeks. . . . Three hours." 

At the phrase 'breast feeding' I quickly busied myself with the pipes under the sink. 

About five minutes later, Lorelai hung up. Five minutes after that, the baby's screaming ebbed to half-hearted whimpers, and, by the time I'd gotten the old pipes out, became silence. 

Lorelai knelt beside me. "She's gassy," she said. "I didn't burp her long enough last time I fed her." 

I turned in her direction and was momentarily struck dumb: she was beautiful, and she was smiling at me. "Oh," I said. 

"Thank you," she said. 

"No problem." 

"She gave me her phone number, and told me to call anytime except Sundays, mornings before nine, and weekdays after seven." 

"Mrs. Kim has her limits." 

"She was incredibly helpful. She kind of scolded me, though, and made me promise to go to church." 

I chuckled. "Are you going to go?" 

She made a face. "I guess I should, at least once. Since she was so helpful." 

"Hand me that wrench?" She did. "You're from the city, huh?" I said from under the sink. 

"No. Suburbs. Why?" 

"No reason. This town's weird. It's like . . . Mayberry. There's all these dumb festivals, and no stoplights, and the arcade stinks. But people help each other. I complain about stuff, for good reason, but the thing is, you're never alone in Stars Hollow." 

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	2. Chapter 1: Rory

"Hearts in Stars Hollow"

**Chapter One: Rory**   
Stars Hollow, the Present. 

"Rory?" Mom was talking to me. I should answer. "Rory?" 

"Huh?" 

"Do you want to go home? You don't have to stay for this." 

"What? Um . . ." I said. 

"I could take her home," Luke said. 

"No, you don't have to. We came in my car," my mom answered. 

"It's fine. I could drive back here --" 

"All the way back?" she argued. 

"Guys?" I said. "Um, guys?" 

"Honey, do you want to stay? You can go home if you want to," Mom said. 

"Lorelai, it's no problem," Luke said. 

They kept talking. Yammering and arguing and asking me questions that I couldn't think of an answer to. I didn't know if I was supposed to be a kid and go home or be a grownup and wait in the hospital with the rest of the grownups. My grandfather had another heart attack or something, and he's in surgery, and we're waiting out here, and grandma picked me up from school and drove me here, and she's been crying, and Mom's been crying, and I didn't even change out of my school uniform or anything, and I've just been sitting here waiting and no one's telling me anything, and they keep asking me questions -- 

"_I don't know!_" I yelled. 

Everything stopped. God, what a horrible thing to do. They didn't need me freaking out on top of everything else. The three grownups before me, Mom, Grandma, and Luke, all looked at each other liked I was Crazy Cousin Gertie. 

"How 'bout a walk?" Luke said. I shrugged. "C'mon, we'll go walk," he said. 

"Let me take your schoolbag, sweets," Mom said. I hadn't noticed that I still had it on my back. 

With his fingertips brushing my shoulder blades, Luke led me down the hall. I watched the carpet disappear below my feet: pink in the middle, grey runners on the edges. How Ringwaldian. 

"Are you hungry?" Luke asked. 

I shrugged. "Not really." 

"Coffee? I think I saw a machine . . ." 

I glanced up at him. "Thanks, but I'm okay. I don't think I want to leave. . . . Am I supposed to stay or leave?" 

"I don't think you're 'supposed to' do anything." 

"What if he dies and I'm not here?" Luke stared straight ahead. "This really really sucks." 

"Yeah, it does." 

"But I should probably stay." 

"If you want to." 

We continued walking. 

"Why are you here?" I asked, then realized how it sounded. "I mean, not that I'm not glad you're here, because I totally am. I'm just wondering." 

"Same as last time -- um, your mom was in the diner when your grandmother called. I just," I translated his vague arm as a shrug, "came along." 

"Oh." 

I stared at the walls as we passed them: kids' drawings, plans for a new wing, plaques with names of people who bought stuff for the hospital. We whooshed by before I could look for the name 'Gilmore.' I decided I liked watching the carpet instead of the walls. As we moved through the massive Hartford Memorial Hospital, pink became green, then tan, then pink again. The circle of life, in Berber. 

"Hey, look where we are," Luke said suddenly, obviously for my benefit. I looked where he was pointing. A pink sign read, 'Maternity'. 

"Oh." 

"You want to find the nursery?" he asked. 

"Are we allowed?" 

"Dunno." 

I didn't see any signs anywhere that said otherwise. "Um. Sure." I was having a hard time caring about anything, but it seemed preferable to have a destination. "I've never seen a nursery for real, like, not on t.v." 

"I've only been to the one." 

"When?" 

"When Jess was born." 

The thought of a mini-Jess in diapers was amusing enough to elevate my mood a notch for a whole thirty seconds. We followed the signs until the wall opened up to a picture window. Curious, I peeked inside. Rows of plastic bassinets, containing tiny swaddles with scrunched-up, oddly-colored faces, topped with knit caps: pink for girls, blue for boys. Just like on t.v. 

"They're so tiny," I breathed. 

Some of them slept cozily in little sleepers; others pumped their arms and legs. There didn't seem to be any sick or premature ones. Did I come on a lucky day, or did they keep the sick ones somewhere else? 

"You really like my mom, huh?" I said without thinking. 

"We're friends," he said. 

"You do so much for us." 

"She's my friend." 

"You want to have, like, ten-thousand of her babies." 

"_What?_" 

Oops. Did I say that aloud? "Nothing. Kidding. That line's from a movie." 

"Oh." 

A woman in cartoon-patterned scrubs picked up a squalling infant and carried it to some doohickey at the back of the room. 

"My grandfather's really sick." 

"He's going to be fine. It's just a . . . it's just an operation." 

I knew Luke was being nice; I didn't want to bicker. I slipped my arm through his like a Victorian couple courting and leaned my head against his arm. I kind of wished for my dad, except didn't. It was weird . . . I couldn't imagine just standing looking at babies with Dad. 

"Did you know me when I was little?" I asked him. 

"Yup. Didn't your mom tell you that?" 

"Can't remember." 

"I met you when I came over to fix your mom's sink. I could hear you screaming from half a block away." 

My reflection smiled. "How old was I?" 

"I don't know. A baby." 

I attempted to conjure an image of teenage Lorelai and teenage Luke, standing in a room with a baby, but couldn't quite get it right. 

"Did you hold me?" 

"Mmhmm." 

"Then? I mean, that first time you met me?" 

"Yep. After I fixed the pipes, your mom made me stay for lunch." 

"Mom cooked then?" 

"Yeah right. I had to tell her to drain the tuna before you take it out of the can." 

I giggled. That sounded deliciously like Mom. 

"What did I do?" 

"Nothing much, just stared at me. And I stared back, because I didn't know what else to do with you. Well, you did do something interesting." 

"What?" 

"You spit up pureed green beans all over my shirt." 

"No way!" The bubble of laughter in my chest caught me utterly by surprise. 

"It was like _The Exorcist_. We had to call a priest," he said with mock-annoyance. 

I laughed so hard I couldn't breathe. It wasn't even that funny, but tears leaked out of my eyes. 

When I recovered, I said, "We should go back." 

"We don't have to. If you want, we can walk around some more or something." 

"No, I'm okay." We turned to go. "We should get my mom and Grandma dinner," I said. 

"They may not be hungry." 

"Mom's always hungry." I shrugged. "I think I should _do _something." 

Luke looked down at me with concern, and I expected him to say something different than, "Sure. Let's go." 

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	3. Chapter 2: Luke

"Hearts in Stars Hollow"

**Chapter Two: Luke**

Lorelai was down at the front of the church between Rory and her mom. They were crowded in with people I didn't recognize. The casket loomed in front of them – closed, thank god. 

I watched Lorelai's sleek, dark head stare straight ahead the entire service, but I knew she wasn't paying attention. One at a time, the two women beside her broke down. First her mom, then Rory. Lorelai put an arm around each of them in turn. Mrs. Gilmore turned it off fast; some women are like that around their kids. But Rory sank into her mother's shoulder, too young to care about a stiff upper lip. 

I felt bad for the kid. With her dad only there when he felt like it, Rory's grandfather had been the best male influence in her life. You come to rely on a thing like that. 

Afterward, they both hugged me. Rory was like a wet noodle in my arms. I wished I could tell her something – anything – to let her know that she wouldn't feel this way forever. 

"Hang in there, honey," was the best I had. She smiled a little and thanked me. 

Lorelai was the opposite, every muscle tensed and ready to strike. When I asked her how she was, she gave me a stock answer to my stock (dammit) question. 

"Are you coming to my parents' house for lunch?" she asked. "My mother -- or, more like, my mother's chef -- made enough to feed a couple of pro-football teams. 'Feed a grief,' I guess." 

"Uh, I'm not sure. I have to check back at the diner first." 

"Worried Jess will burn it down?" 

"Well, he does have that special talent at destruction," I said sarcastically, which got her to smile. 

"Well," she said. "We'll be home by seven." 

"'Kay." 

"See ya later, then. I have to go get my place in the orange flag parade." 

I hugged her again. She held on longer than an average hug, and then she was gone, off to thank another supporter. 

I didn't go to the burial or her mother's house. I'd check up on her later. 

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	4. Chapter 3: Rory

"Hearts in Stars Hollow"

**Chapter Three: Rory**

I'm glad I brought my journal to Grandpa's funeral. 

I hate those words, so final. Heavy, like the knot of breakfast that has sat in my stomach all afternoon. Today has been awful. 

Mom says that there's this tradition thing about death and funerals that everyone expects. Tradition is important to Grandma and Grandpa. So that's why we wear black and try not to cry and tell everyone that we're doing "fine." 

I feel much closer to Grandpa here than in that church, where the pastor said stuff that was supposed to sound nice. Grandpa didn't go to church and neither did we. So why can't we memorialize him somewhere else? When I die, I want people to go somewhere fun, and sit and talk and laugh and stuff. Everyone tells me to "remember the good times," which I'd much rather do when there isn't a casket in front of me. That's so gross. 

It's so quiet in here in Grandpa's library, with his books and the things he loved. Everything's made of dark wood and rich tones, muted and dignified like Grandpa himself. I sit here, with no one but my own thoughts for company, and I can feel his presence. 

Mom just came in to check on me. I told her I just want to be alone. I think she understood. Have I been short-tempered lately, or has Mom been hen-pecking me? I don't usually snap at Mom just because she asked if I was hungry. I don't _care _that there's "good sandwiches and stuff" out there; how can anyone care about food right now? The buffet in the living room is like a bribe: show up and get a free sandwich. Everyone headed right for it. It's just as weird as bringing over all those casseroles. Freaky casseroles. We don't eat broccoli, or tuna, and definitely not together. 

This whole day has been weird. Or the past week, actually. Everyone's been _so _extra nice, and it's just weird. I love that my town is like a giant extended family . . . but, geez, I'm not broken! I want Michel to call me 'evil child' again. 

And I don't. Sometimes I _do _feel broken. Normal things have been so much more stressful than normal. Like Jess. He keeps trying to make everything okay, but he can't. And I just don't have the energy to tell him, calmly and maturely, that there's nothing he can do. But then _he _gets frustrated, and _I _get frustrated, and I just don't have the energy to fight right now. 

I hate this. 

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	5. Chapter 4: Lorelai

"Hearts in Stars Hollow"

Chapter Four: Lorelai 

Rory was playing music with her door shut again. She had the phone, too. I'm not used to my baby acting like the teenager she is. While the Emily Gilmore in me wants to (s)mother her, the Lorelai Gilmore lets me give Rory her space. She'll let me in again when she's ready. 

I could use some time alone with my rambly thoughts, too, which is why I'm sitting on the front porch in the dark. 

And yet, the sight of Luke trudging up the walk was, I realized then, exactly what I'd been waiting for. 

He sat beside me on the glider without saying a word. This is what I love about my friendship with Luke. With Sookie -- though I love her dearly -- we always have to _chat_. And chatting's good. World class, award-winning chatter here, two-years running. But with Luke, I can sulk. I can sit here quietly (for once), and he understands. 

He was in flannel, of course. If I was ever on a cruise ship, and got kidnapped by pirates, and they told me I had to draw the pattern of all of Luke's flannel shirts -- supplying the art materials, of course -- or walk the plank, I could do it. 

I scooted a little closer and linked our elbows. He took my hand and covered it with both of his. Tense muscles I hadn't been aware of unknotted in my neck and shoulders. I had spent all day hugging people who needed it, keeping the food stocked, and taking care of everyone else's emotions. Someone providing _my _requisite need for affection was exactly what I'd pined for all day. And yet, in that utterly content moment, I felt the faintest tug of loneliness. 

"Was the diner busy tonight?" I asked. 

I felt his shrug against my shoulder. "Usual. Closed early." He looked at me. "How are you?" 

I almost selected one of the many polite answers I'd been issuing the past few days before I realized that Luke actually wanted to know. "Exhausted. Emotionally wrecked. I feel like a Stretch Armstrong doll that's been pulled in a million directions until my arms popped open and all my goo dribbled out." 

"How . . . graphic." 

"But I'm a little better now that it's over. All that waiting in the hospital. . . . It's a 'this is done' tired, and I think that's good. Things can be normal now. I mean, not that they will . . ." 

"You're in the 'normal-again' stage," he said. 

"Huh?" I asked. 

"Y'kno, the stages. When someone dies, there's stages. First, there's the initial, ykno, event." 

I nodded; 'event' was a more accurate euphemism than 'pass away,' which sounded gentle and soothing and nothing like the ordeal that it was. 

"Then, everyone's surrounding you and trying to help," he said. "And then people go away, and things are supposed to be normal, or whatever the new normal is going to be." 

"Well, right now I feel sad and lost, and about twelve years old." 

"You do?" He sounded surprised. "You seemed so . . . together." 

"Oh, ha ha, fooled you. The Lorelai on display today was Mature Responsible Lorelai. She was covering for Grieving Childish Lorelai, who was busy crying in a corner." 

"Which Lorelai is here now?" 

"This Lorelai feels something like Little Red Ridinghood . . . except no one dies in that story . . . and they never mention Red's father. I wonder why." 

"I have no idea." 

If I was confusing him, or boring him, I knew he didn't really mind. I curled up on the glider and rested my head on his shoulder. He wrapped his arm around my shoulders, slowly tracing patterns on my arm with his thumb. It felt so nice -- relaxing -- that I ignored the alarm bells going off in the back of my mind. 

"Rory up there?" He indicated the source of the music. 

"Just her, Sarah McLachlan, and the phone." 

"Not taking it well?" 

"I think she is. Relatively. She's just acting like a teenager," I said with irritation. 

"How dare she act her age." 

"Really! How weird is that? We never did that." 

"We were obedient and respectful and never gave our parents anything to worry about." 

I'd missed his droll, mocking voice all day. 

"I think she's mad at me," I admitted. 

"Why?" 

"For not getting along with her grandparents. For keeping her away from them, for – " For the first time that day, I let loose the tears that I'd been holding back since I woke up this morning. 

Luke let me soak his collar. The flannel was soft against my cheek and his arms felt strong and permanent. I felt ridiculous for being thirty-plus years old and basking in a guy's protection. I'd taken care of myself since I was sixteen. But that was just it: I had been a kid one day and a mom the next. I supposed it was okay if I sometimes needed a moment like this. 

"I feel like I missed out on something incredibly important," I said into Luke's neck. "And I _did_. When I was little, my dad used to take me horseback riding. But then I got older, and moodier, and he was always working and I was hiding in my room and I hardly saw him anymore. I always thought that someday, after he retired, or after things settled down, or in some distant mythical time when the stuff in our past wasn't important anymore, he'd let me be close to him again. But the past just kept coming up. We'd store up stuff to argue about like little squirrels with nuts. 

"But then I realize that Rory loves him. She's their golden child. And I still pulled away from them. I thought it would only be _my_ life if I lived it alone, cuz knowing me, I have to be all, 'it's me against the world.' I feel _so _alone, Luke." 

"C'mon, in this town? Everyone loves you and Rory. You've got friends and neighbors and . . . lots of friends. Rory doesn't blame you for anything. You did what you had to do, she knows that." 

I sat back out of his embrace. "I know. I know she understands." I physically shook off my maudlin mood like a puppy shaking off water. "Ughh! I just . . . tonight I'm in a mood to blame myself. Sanity will come in the morning, I promise." 

"I hope so." His hand was creating a patch of warmth on my arm. Pure concern was written on his face. We were so close. 

"Thanks for letting me freak you out with all of that." I leaned forward and kissed his cheek. 

"You didn't freak me out." 

The moment hovered; I knew he was searching my face. I dropped my gaze. My mind was utterly blank. This awful day and his gentle voice and concerned expression had drained my inhibition. I leaned forward. I kissed him. 

Later I would say that I meant it as a friendly peck. But the kiss dwindled. Any desire to salvage the moment died when he began to kiss me back. _Luke is a good kisser_, I learned. 

We parted. _I've seen that look before_. 

Reality slapped me upside the head with a hearty _thwap! Luke! I just kissed Luke! _Regret was instant and palpable; but like the first second of a burn, I knew the true, searing agony was only to come. 

"I'm sorry!" I gasped. My face was hot. "Luke – I – I'm so sorry. I don't know what I was thinking." 

"It's okay," he said stonily. He stood to leave. 

"This day has been so awful and you've been the best shoulder to cry on, and I know that doesn't mean 'please attack me' but you're here and male and stuff -- which you already know. And I haven't had sex since Chr-anyway, that's not important." Any other day, I would have been proud of eliciting a shocked expression on Luke's unflappable face. 

"Lorelai," he held his hands in front of him, palms towards me. "It's okay. Don't worry about it." 

"I'm really sorry." 

"I know." 

We stood there in that eternally horrific moment. 

"Um--" "Well--" 

"You said you were tired, so -- " he said. 

"Yeah. Tired. Really tired. Straight to bed with me." 

"Yeah, well . . . good night." 

"Goodnight!" I wished that hadn't come out so fake. 

I retreated inside. The door against my back felt like a shield. I stood there in the most pure, unfiltered embarrassment I'd felt since I'd spent an hour at my parents' 1980 Christmas banquet with the back of my dress tucked into my pantyhose. I would have given up coffee and ice cream and coffee ice cream and whipped cream and anything else from the sugar family for a Delorian and Michael J. Fox. I couldn't begin to explain my behavior, and I didn't want to try.   


At least the night wasn't a total loss. Sometime in the night, Rory climbed into my bed. 

"'Night, Mom." She whispered. 

Without opening my eyes, I asked, "Are you okay?" 

"I'm better. Sorry for being snippy." 

"You were just using your 'One Free Day of Snippiness when you Buy a Night of Moodiness' coupon. 'Night, baby." 

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	6. Chapter 5: The Town

"Hearts in Stars Hollow"

Chapter Five: The Town 

"Patty! Patty!" 

"I'm in the middle of a class!" 

"You've got to hear this! It's about Luke and Lorelai." 

"What? Ladies, fifteen leglifts. Now, tell." 

"I just came from the diner. _Everyone _just came from the diner! Oh, my gosh, I'm out of breath." 

"Just _tell _it!" 

"Lorelai comes in, and Luke is very standoffish, very gruff, you know how he gets, except he's never with Lorelai. She cracks some joke, and Luke just ignores her. And then they get into an argument about a kiss." 

"A kiss?! He kissed her?" 

"No, she kissed him." 

"Oh my god." 

"That's not even the best part! So, Lorelai says, 'Luke, I told you, I'm sorry. I'm _so _sorry. I didn't mean it.' She says her emotions have been all churned up since her father died." 

"Poor little lamb." 

"Well, she's been following Luke around the room when she says this, and he's getting more and more annoyed. He's got that look, ykno, the one he usually gets when Taylor comes in." 

"Ooo, bad sign!" 

"So he spins around, practically knocks her off her high heels, and says, 'Okay! I get it! You're very, very sorry! Now will you please leave?'" 

"He said that to _her_?" 

"_Lorelai _can't believe it either. She's shocked, her baby-blues are tearing up, and she asks him, 'How can I make it up to you?' 

"And he grumbles, real quiet, 'Stop apologizing.' 

"She says, 'What?' And he doesn't answer, but she's starting to figure out that there's something to figure out! So she asks him, 'You're mad that I said I'm sorry?' He doesn't answer her _again_. Just keeps slamming the sugar containers around. Then Lorelai says real quiet, 'Why are you mad that I'm sorry?' 

"So Luke says, 'I'm not. I didn't mean . . . it's nothing.' Well, you can't throw Lorelai off a trail once she's caught a scent. She says, 'No, you meant something. Luke . . . this doesn't make any sense. You're not mad at me for kissing you, but you're mad I'm sorry . . .? Luke, what's going on? Will you please tell me why you're mad at me?' 

"And he suddenly looks up and just _yells_, 'Because _I'm _not sorry it happened!'" 

"Oh my god! What did she say?!" 

"She was too stunned to say anything, like she was gonna faint. The diner was completely silent, except for Kirk, who dropped his spoon. Luke looked like he was frozen in headlights. And Lorelai was trying to figure out what he just said." 

"Dense, dense girl." 

"So while she's standing there without saying anything, he starts charging like a bull to the kitchen." 

"Oh no." 

"Then Lorelai says, 'Luke.' 

"And he turns around, and they just stand there for a second, like it's a showdown. Then she walks towards him -- very purposeful -- and throws her arms around him, and kisses him! Just like that! And then she says, 'I'm sorry.' And he starts to get all annoyed -- you know that face he makes -- and she says, 'I was an idiot for being sorry.' 

"And Luke says, 'Forgiven.'" 

end   
~*~   
Feedback appreciated at ofnone2153@aol.com. A million thanks to my beta reader Ann. 

A/n: This story was originally supposed to be a much larger work . . . but most of the other chapters sucked. These parts, however, seemed to stand out on their own, almost as if they were a story within a story. 

The concept of the shifting first person narrative came from _The Poisonwood Bible _by Barbara Kingsolver, which I highly recommend. All my other stories are like just one of each of these chapters; Kingsolver showed me how to string together a bunch of small stories to construct a larger picture. 

I was a little wary to do the ninety degree shift in the plot (such as there is). I was deathly afraid of the story coming out as hurt/comfort (grogg) or as one of those stories that uses a horrible trauma as an excuse to get two characters together. I like to think I sufficiently separated Richard's death from the javajunkieness, but that is really up to you, isn't it? 

As always, thanks for reading! - K 

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